


East Ville

by tear_dropxo



Category: Naruto, One Piece
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-07 06:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tear_dropxo/pseuds/tear_dropxo
Summary: Welcome to East Ville,Institution for the Inscrutable and the Dispossessed.Nothing for weak nerves.Chapter Eight is now up: Fallen War Hero!





	1. Welcome to East Ville

 

Welcome to East Ville,

Institution for the Inscrutable and the Dispossessed.

Nothing for weak nerves.

 

Confined within these four walls we have admitted crazed creatures ranging from your every-day psychopath to the unconventional puppet lover whose love for wood cuts more than sharp edges.

A place filled with double masked faces, lung-burning farts, creepy eyes that follow in dreams and beasts with a love for meat and living limbs.

 

Let your mind be splattered into mindless goo as you watch them, pushed against the limit of their sanity, surviving inside this madness driven hell-hole.

 

This is East Ville, Institution for the Inscrutable and Dispossessed.

 

Absolutely nothing for weak nerves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I do not intend to offend anyone. I know how severe and challenging disorders can be, since I studied a thing or two about psychopathology. But this idea has been weighing on my mind recently. However, I know it’s still sensitive area but it’s also an area many have misconceptions about- like a person suffering from OCD is actually just a neat freak.
> 
> And I’m not arguing that I will present those disorders as realistically as possible. Of course, I will do my homework and research and such but, the illnesses I’ll work with such as OCD, split personality, Schizophrenia (and more) will on provide me a basis. Rather than exaggerating them, I’ll present abnormal (and creative) cases that might or might not be triggering. I wouldn’t know, but I trust you can call your own judgement whether it is something you would read or not. 
> 
> Second of all, it will be a cross-over of Naruto and One-piece. They both have their share of (weird) characters that fit into this. (And it was, Usopp’s and Sogeking’s fight with Perona that gave me the premise of this. Naruto’s conversations with Kurama just fuelled it, you know?)
> 
> If it’s something you would read, I have (an example) chapter ready. If not, don’t just flame me or spam the review/comment section but just say something justified like, “I don’t think it works well.” or even, “You’re writing isn’t good enough yet to pull it off.” Or even, “It’s a terrible idea. Leave it. Just stick to your main stories.”
> 
> Although I have haven’t gotten any hate reviews yet, I fear the day I will. I rather much appreciate your silence. 
> 
> Next: Naruto’s first admission. Chapter 1. Twisted personalities.


	2. Twisted personalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where are we?

“ **Where are we?”**

 

“Do’t ‘noe.”

 

The road stretched out before him. Achromatic tiles stared at him, snickered with every creek of his footsteps. The walls bled. Its whiteness lost under the accumulated dust of dirt and—

 

_Thud!_

 

That sound— _sickening_.

 

Pools of blue eyes stared at the never ending splash of greyness, unmoving. His limps, a mess of mashed muscles, uncoordinated and lifeless under the thick ropes.

 

They tugged— _tugged and tugged_ —holstered him up.

 

A cow and a dog.

 

Their mask were only a smoke of ambiguity under the shades of his unfocused eyes. His skin was chapped. His lips, dried. And his hands, bound—cuffed with metal rings, draped over with a wetted cloths, limply hanging, listlessly at his sides.

 

“ **Where are we going?”**

 

That sound— _welcoming_.

 

“Do’t ‘noe.”

 

His voice; a callous slop, rough and bent, dragging on. He rose his blond head, stared at the wallowing walls, bleeding of dust and untouched piles of excretion.

 

“ **Where are your parents?”**

 

The cow snubbed, tugged and tugged.

 

_Thud!_

 

Pools of blue eyes, stared at the stretching greyness, dots of crimson. His nose, ached. His feet, a tangled mush of masses, unmoving and lifeless.

 

“Do’t ‘noe.”

 

The dog growled. Holstered him up. Dragged him deeper and deeper into the blacked edge of this hell-hole. His legs moved along the stretching road. Behind bars and metal clunking doors.

 

That sound— _sickening_.

 

“ _ **But where are—”**_

 

“K’lama!” pitched, rough and bent, his voice dragged on above the grounds of hysterics. Unfocused blue eyes, stared at the achromatic walls, specks of dust, dried piles of excretion and most of all his lonesomeness.

 

“I do’t ‘noe!”

* * *

Welcome to East Ville,

Institution for the Inscrutable and the Dispossessed.

Nothing for weak nerves.

 

* * *

 

Minato remembered seeing it.

The building towered over the aged trees. Its plastered, cracked and fissured, stained with old age and ivy. The windows barred. The door bolted. The garden stretched inside an iron gate. It reminded him of a fortress—a prison—a cage worse than that of a bird.

Why couldn’t Kushina see that?

“I do _see_ that! I _do_ get where you’re coming from, ya know!?” she slammed her hands on the table. Her hair stood on end, failed about like that of an amended version of Medusa’s as her eyes flashed. “But there are no other options! There are no other places willing to take him in! You know how many places we went to- how much we have moved around! It doesn’t matter where we go—doesn’t matter which place we arrive at—the results are always the same! We can’t leave it to the usual methods anymore! It’s extreme, yes, but I really want _my_ son to be better, Minato!”

The blond drove his fingers through his rakish hair and closed his eyes to dispel the anger brewing inside his chest before he rose his eyes to meet hers. “That’s not what I meant and _you_ _know_ that. Naruto is my son as much as he is yours. And I like him to be better as well. But I want him to get treatment _elsewhere_. There has to be a place that’s _better_ than this one.”

“I just told this is our only option!” her pearly cobalt pierced through him sharper than knife as she rose a finger towards him. “There might be a place better _looking_ than this one but there’s _no_ place _better_ than dealing with Naruto than this one! This is the _best_ and the _worst_ he can get and we— _as parents—_ have to support him in this! So stop your moaning and sign this damn paper already!” she shoved a crumbled stapled paper at his face and threw a pen at him.

He caught it with fair ease and dropped himself on the couch. His lips were pursed and his fingers poised on the pen, denting the paper with his elegant scrawl, wordlessly.

Kushina only snubbed and crossed her arms over her chest as she turned to glare at the dumbfounded woman at the other side of the desk. “Anything else you need, Tsunade? Or is this it?”

Tsunade coughed and cleared her throat as she cleared her head, fogged with the recent witness of a marital argument right in the middle of her office. But considering who the wife was, the leading mental health Doctor found that such as occurrence wasn’t as surprising as it should have been.

_You’re still as shameless as ever Kushina. . ._

The woman bit back a smirk as she received the papers from the blond and stared into his frosted eyes. “His condition seems to be chronic.”

She watched the confusion slowly pool into Minato’s eyes as he glanced back at Kushina. Her hands were fisted and face completely red as her eyes _burned_ of sudden rage. His face hardened. “Did you know about it, Kushina?”

But she was listening and glaring daggers at the Psychiatrist. “That’s classified information, ya know! Instantiating _th_ _at_ is a breach of confidentiality!”

“I merely told him what his son has. His condition is seemingly genetically inherited.” Tsunade folded her hands in front of her face. “Besides, it was your choice to withhold _that_ from your husband. It’s merely in my authorisation to disclose information of my patient to both of his parents. Even if it would procure _this_ situation.”

“ _This_ and _that_ —whatever they might be,” Minato closed his eyes briefly, pinched the bridge of his nose before he gave his wife a stern look. “We will discuss it later. In _detail_. But for now, I’ll entrust Naruto in your care.”

“Of course.” Tsunade nodded, rose from her chair to shake his hand. She glanced at Kushina, who only balled her fists and looked away. Sighing, the elder gathered the files scattered across her desk and smiling gently as she whispered. “You blew it, not me.”

Kushina opened her mouth with her eyes just as though scandalised. But before she could splatter curses at her or launch punches at her, Minato dragged her away with a secure grip on her arm.

“Then I’ll hear from you, Tsunade.”

“Wait!— _Stop_!”

The door opened.

“I can’t leave without kicking—!”

And closed.

She sighed, messaged her temples as she listened to Kushina’s roughed but faded shrieks from the hallway. Her vocal tones were as fine as the day she was first admitted here.

But if there was one person who could endure her boisterous behaviour and still endlessly love her for it then it was undoubtedly Minato. There was no doubt in her mind that Kushina’s marriage was going to last.

A mental condition wouldn’t break their bond so easily.

“Now, if only Kushina is ready to believe that too. . .” she mumbled as she wondered how many years it has exactly been, before her eyes landed on the two framed pictures on her desk.

_Nawaki. . ._

_Dan. . ._

A smile blossomed on her lips as she swivelled in her.

“I wonder if sake is great for dinner. . .”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed it, Naruto is schizophrenic. Since it’s a chronic condition, he’s mostly suffering from negative symptoms such as distorted thoughts pattern, speech poverty and uncoordinated movement—hence he’s falling since he's also usually catatonic and therefore is (probably) not used to moving. His only positive symptom is hallucination—hearing Kurama speaking to him (in bold). 
> 
> Next should be: ASL Brothers. Chapter 2. Eco-Cannibalism rather than Eco-friendly. (Ace suffering from Depression and Luffy from a weird (imaginary disorder where sees only meat). 
> 
> But before, I'd like to hear your opinions about this.


	3. Eco-Cannibalism rather than Eco-friendly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re too weak to ever hurt me, Luffy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up darker than I initially intended. I apologise for than but I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.  
> Oh and those with a weak stomach, I hope you’re not eating anything whilst reading this.  
> It might get graphic. 
> 
> About the poll, sorry, I didn't know that only registered users can vote. So the choices are as follows:
> 
> 1)Hoarded Insects and Hunted Skeletons: Shino’s hoarding insects and Brook is terrorising visitors.
> 
> 2) Doubled Masks and Delusions of Grandeur: Usopp has two sides and Franky thinks he's ‘Mecha!’
> 
> 3) Curiosity and Murderous Eyes: a secret room 111 and red killer eyes, (Sasuke only).
> 
> 4) Psychopathy and Wooden Splinters: Hair of blood and creepy green eyes, paired with a collector of puppets. (Gaara and Kankuro)
> 
> 5) Cats and Women: Thieves and mind reading illusions. (Nami, Ino, and poor Shikamaru) 
> 
> You can tell me on the comment section which one you'd like to read. You can choose two if you're unsure :)

The walls caved in. It’s greyness, dark and clammy, bleeding on the floor, unremarkable against the bleak concrete, bleak despite the fluorescent lights, blinding my eyes.

The walls caved in. The floor bled. _Tap, Tap,_ _Tap_ my feet followed, followed this stretching pathway, this intrinsic rhythm hammering away in my brain, following these curves of this wretched hole of labyrinthine, theses twists of a constipated folded snake, these—

“It’s this room,” the psychiatrist mumbled and lowered the knob, more than two heads shorter than me and triple as chubby with his brown fur, fur like forgotten swirl of poop—

Blame Luffy.

And my own mind for missing him.

_Creek . . ._

Faint but strong the stench burned my nose and misted my eyes.

_Creek. . ._

Millimetre by millimetre. Second by second. The door opened. Wide. Fluorescent lights on full blast. It was bright. Too bright. Sun light hit across my face, blinding me, blinding me eyes, but this darkness. . .

This darkness was too bright.

The floor bled. The walls caved in—the walls, ashed. The concrete bled. It sprinkled on him. Rained down on him. And like an unfitting coat it fell, fell like ink from a cap, like a stone from a bridge. He rose his head and like a curtain lifted him. Lifted him out from this bloodied sea, out of this grappling hold of glaring darkness. His irises, a mismatch of black and white but much like I remembered them; deafening and wild. He glared through the spaces between his tousled hair. His voice, ragged and dried, like sandpapers in a dessert.

“. . . .Sabo?”

Shadows flittered across the floors, stuck on the walls, crept from its cracks and beckoned him, and just like that he submerged, fell back behind the curtains of his place in this fallen out bleakness and inked concrete.

“Where’s Luffy?”

The lights were on, full blast, blinding bright and yet I could only see the darkness in him, in his steps and his eyes. His hand shackled on his metal bars of his bed. His arms ravelled in bandages and his shirt beyond ripped. His skin more than marred, embroidered with prints of cubes. His cheeks, slashed. His lips swollen, bitten. And his face—a wonder splotching of red.

The psychiatrist didn’t return his stare, picked up a wash cloths strewn on the ground. “My colleague came to wash you up today. Why did you scare her away?”

He was ignored.

Ace’s stormy eyes were on me.

“Where’s Luffy?”

“I don’t know.” Honesty was the only option when his eyes were as wild and unfocused as Ace’s. Instincts came over common sense at those times. Past experiences have taught me that. Admitting it or not, Ace was a block of confusion every time his mind catapulted when either Luffy or I was involved. He barely grappled with his own emotions as it were, now and before.

“Sabo, it’s my fault.”

The cloth drenched his blood like a sponge under a tap. Ace didn’t wince. Didn’t bit the inside of his cheeks but blankly stared back. As though he couldn’t feel it. Immunised to the world and its worldly sensation that his shut heart couldn't taste. Like a cocoon shielded from life outside its cages. Ace was a lost cause of emotions and stark emptiness, like an emptied gullet of water that once stood mighty with richness of minerals, nourishing flora and fauna. And the likes of Luffy and I.

“Luffy can’t bite you. It doesn’t matter what he sees, or how _hungry_ he is- he cannot bite you. You’re his brother. And you don’t bite a brother.”

The cloth dropped on the ground, seeped of blood and unmasked pain. I moved to grab the next, a pack of tissues on the table, wiped his chin and gently swabbed his cheek. Ace didn’t flinch. Even as his peeled skin clustered on the tissue.

“But as brother I should have let him.”

_No, you let him. He ripped your skin apart because you’ve let him. Because you couldn’t find a replacement of your own necessities._

But instead I said, “They shouldn’t have let you stay together in the first place.”

“Luffy goes nuts without me around. You know what happened last time.”

“Last time wasn’t your fault.” Agreeing or not. The truth had to be spoken. Wherever Luffy looked, he always saw a nice piece of meat even if it was slab of concrete or the knob of a door, and it was in his blood to chase it, even if it meant going berserk inside his room, leaving craters, and wrecking his bed into unusable chops of wood.

 _Obsessi cum cibum*._ The blond lady, Tsunade, had said with a drunken finger pointed at Luffy during the day of his psychological screening. Nothing of it was Ace’s fault, and yet he constantly tried to shoulder burdens of unmistakeable weight rather than leaving it lying next to his feet.

And even now- as his eyes wandered about, looking for wrongs and I’s that could he could somehow connect together and relate back to him—it wasn’t his fault, but something that happened to him over the course of his short life. Too much responsibility undoes a man and having me and Luffy messing around with our strange affiliations and attractions, it unravelled him and eventually destroyed him after it seeped the life out of him and replaced it with an empty shell.

The shell that’s now defining my brother.

The shell of my own creation.

“Listen, Ace, Luffy goes nuts with or without you around. He’s just like that. Allowing him to chew on you isn’t doing anyone good.”

The psychiatrists quietly watched from the back, a pen held between his hooves and notebook in his other, watching us, and Ace watching him before his eyes shifted away. I knew the look on his face. He wasn’t deep in thought. Ace gave up thinking long ago. He rather spent his time staring blankly at the wall with time whizzing past him. His mind was stupefied and when I turned, I knew why, because mine was as well.

Luffy stood at the door with pink-haired woman next to his side, clothed with clean garments and freshly bathed with a scent of soap bubbles that carried between dull and tasteless. His eyes wide and bright as he blinked carefully at Psychiatrist, then me, and finally Ace. Except he wasn’t quite looking at Ace but the drenched cloth on the floor.

“Ace’s blood?” his voice teetered on the soft edges of quiet.

“No, Sabo’s,” it was just as quiet without a hint of sarcasm that used hung on his voice. Ace’s eyes were less bright but twice as honest as he stretched out a hand to Luffy with a complacent smile, his other still glued on the metal bars. “Sorry, I was too loud. It didn’t hurt. I was just surprised.”

Luffy glanced at Ace’s face, at his torn skin and reddened flesh, before he pointed at his own cheek. “That. . . didn’t hurt?”

Of course it hurt. It looked painful. But knowing Ace, he would say otherwise and shrug it off with laughter close to tears, and knowing Luffy he would accept that with naivety and mistaken trust to his older brother.

“Nah, why would it? You’re too weak to ever hurt me, Luffy.”

And just like that the routine ended—ended for the moment and readied to break again when Luffy’s next rampage hits in. They were as infrequent and frequent like day and night and spring to autumn.

But momently Luffy smiled, padded across the floor and shook Ace’s hand, beaming at him and talking about the dragons he made underwater and the make-believe ship that followed with bubble canons that tried to kill the monster.

Ace laughed and smiled, ruffled his hair and the Psychiatric jotted down on his notebook whilst the woman laughed behind her hand at Luffy’s cute antics. But I knew this was just a façade, a cover up to hide the last twenty minutes, even as I grinned and watched the charade. Even as the dread sat tighter in my bones. Dread on what might come next.

On what might happen to Ace next.

After all who knew what Luffy might chew off next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t ask me how a reindeer can be a psychiatrist o.O  
> It’s Oda’s and mine imagination so please let us get away with it :)
> 
> So, this isn’t how it was supposed to have turned out. But what I’ve had in mind turned out to be so bizarre, I just had to change it xD But I do like the way this turned out. What do you think?
> 
> Leave a comment and tell me about it! 
> 
> *Obsessi cum cibum is latin and means obsessed with meat or food. Dunno if it's accurate, I used google translator :)


	4. Hoarded Insects and Hunted Skeletons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiba knew this was completely, utter madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was next on my list so I wrote it. If you have any preferences or own ideas, fire away and let me now by using the comment section. But as things currently stand, 'Doubled Masks and Delusions of Grandeur' will be next. 
> 
> And if you don't like any of them, feel free to tell me why. Really, how will I ever improve if none no-one points out my faults? Likes this my writing will forever stay the same. . . .

It was deafening.

Full of madness.

A room. Packed.

With Creatures.

"They're my friends. . . ."  _Buzzzzzzz!_ "No,  _family._ "

It was deafening. He was sure to grow inside another second here. It was full of madness. Kiba wanted to leave. This room was packed with—

"It's not that bad, Kiba." Hinata tried to laugh, but the blanching pallor on her face told otherwise, her eyes were fixed on the bugs and crawling insects contaminating the floor, hanging on the wall and sticking on the ceiling, and those steadily marching on chair she was standing on with her head ducked low, hood on and overall covering the rest of her body. She swallowed and spoke yet again, even as her voice shook with squeaks. "Really. . . .it's not that bad. . ."

_Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz!_

It was madness.

It was deafening.

It was—

"For goodness' sake!  _Shino_! Call them back!" he shouted, fought off the crawling bugs chewing on his trousers and itching his skin with each millimetre they climbed. Whimpering, his dog clawed on top of his hood, and bared his teeth at the swarming fly nearing his owner.

"My. . . _family_  is kind. They'll never betray me."

It was complete madness.

"It's enough. . .we're  _sorry_. . ." conflicted Hinata stared at the nearing creatures, like a steady marching army seizing the land of her chair as she stood on her toes and ducked her head away from the bug swirling across ceiling and near her own head. " _Really_. . ."

"Seriously!" Kiba shouted as the crawling creatures dumped their faeces on him. He glared at Shino, who sat on the floor at the other end with his  _friends_  sticking on his clothes and sucking like leeches on his skin, crawling out from the many cardboard boxes scattered across the room as he quietly sulked, glaring at his  _supposedly_  two good nurture friends.

Kiba knew this was completely, utter madness.

"Next time, we'll invite you as well, damn it! It's not our fault you're admitted here!" 

* * *

  **It turned out that I couldn't related insects and hoarding well together—in fact, I didn't at all. Forget the hoarding, let's call it keeping insects in opened cardboard boxes, because the staff protested that insects should be kept in confined spaces and not roaming free like Shino believed in.** **But more than anything it turned out to be failed humour. Never mind. Not everything works out, I guess.**

**On to part two!**

* * *

 

Once Shino calmed down and those  _creatures_  receded back into the folds of their  _home_ which is actually nothing but the perimeter of cardboard boxes, normalcy returned to the little room—or as far as normalcy went.

"Aren't you gonna packed that away as well?" Kiba asked and pointed at the skeleton hanging from the ceiling, its black of holes of eyes staring at them as a bug crawled from its eyes. Hinata looked away and drew back.

A gust of wind blew, and fell over her shoulder.

_Yo ho ho ho!_

"That's. . . .my  _friend_. . ." Shino mumbled, shuffling over, picking up his little pet. Kiba and Hinata exchanged a look, slowly backed towards the door. Shino turned towards them, his eyes darkened. The boxes opened, and the crawling bug of an army marched again as though under an unspoken order to start the entire fiasco again.

Hinata squeaked, grabbed the ends of her hood and backed towards the door, only to hit somebody's back. She turned around, ready to apologise when pools of black holes stared at her with a skin, pure skeleton white.

"May I see your panties?"

She screamed.

_Yo ho ho ho!_


	5. Doubled Masks and Delusions of Grandeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange mask hung on the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Only three chapters are left until this finishes. If anybody wishes to see a particular character in this story then do tell as soon as you can. Once I've written chapter eight, I'll be officially done with East Ville, which means no more updates.
> 
> So if you have a request, this is the time to say it.

The mask—yes, that mask. It speaks to me—speaks of grand tales. Legends. Great stories. Except they're real.

That mask—yes, that mask. He's a warrior—fought dragons and seakings.

It's a monster. My fiend. My sworn enemy.

And my hero.

That mask—yes, that mask. It speaks to me—and tells me of its hatred and love for its parents.

That mask—yes, that mask. It shares the same face as me.

That mask—yes, that mask. It's staring right at me—

That mas—yes, that mask. It tells me it is me.

* * *

Law, the Head of the Psychiatric ward, moved down the hallway with Chopper and Sakura right behind him. They were newcomers who thought they were fit enough to work here and it was his job to test that.

His job to disprove that.

He knew, they've only met the harmless ones. The recently admitted schizophrenic Naruto, the forever depressed Ace, meat-crazy Luffy, insect loving Shino, and terrorising Brook.

All of them, who have nothing compared to East Ville's main weirdos.

He unlocked the next sets of doors and step aside to let them in before he closed the doors behind them, gently whistling as he walked away.

This would be their last test.

If they pass, good.

If not, who cared?

As long as they kept away from room 111 and 121 they would be fine. Law was sure of it.

He stopped. Did he tell them that?

After a moment of silent thinking—

He shrugged, walked on, whistling a little louder.

After all, who cared?

* * *

_On the Sniper Island, I was born._

* * *

A strange mask hung on the wall, blue swirly stripes on a hideous yellow. It hung on the wall, right opposite the bed.

Chopper didn't recognise the shadow flitting across the room, and the ends of a cloak fluttering passed the corner of his eyes—silent footsteps echoing on the hard concreted floor and yet—

His patient was missing.

Chopper looked under the bed, raised its covers, peeked under the table and behind the curtains, and arrived at the same conclusion.

He was gone.

* * *

_A hundred shots,_

_a hundred hits_

* * *

The psychiatrist blinked, rubbed the back of his ears as he frowned. Did he hear something?

_Thump!_

Chopper wiped his face. Gross. It stunk like rotten eggs. But it was nothing but dusted cotton balls hitting him. He glanced around. Saw the ends of red cloak. And a green something before it disappeared. The lights were on. But Chopper couldn't see him. He turned—

_Thump!_

Chopper wrinkled his nose, rubbed his sore spot as he turned—

_Thump!_

_._

_._

_._

_Thump!_

_Thump!_

_Thump!_

"That  _hurts_!" he whined and covered his burning nose, tried to open his eyes when— _Thump!_

" _Stop_  it!" He didn't think it would stop. But it did.

Chopper rubbed his forehead. Glanced around. And gasped.

The mask was gone.

* * *

_Lu lu lala lu~_

* * *

Chopper rubbed his eyes. Looked at his clipboard. He was dealing with a pathological liar. And a suffer of personality disorder, and yet it was more like dealing with a weird kid.

Chopper sighed, moved towards the door— _crack!_

The mask lay in front of him.

He picked it up, inspected it and nodded.

It was ugly.

* * *

_Even your Heart_

* * *

Chopper put it down on the table, moved towards the door— _thud!_

He turned.

Usopp lay on the floor.

Chopper blinked, moved to shake his shoulder when— _clack!_

The mask fell. Lay on the floor.

Chopper picked it up, moved to—

_Thud!_

Usopp lay next to the door.

Chopper blinked and—

_Clack!_

The mask lay on the floor—

Chopper moved to pick it up—

_Thud! Clunk! Thump!_

Chopper looked up. The door was locked. Physically barricaded. The psychiatrist glanced at the table shoved onto the door. Looked around but his patient was gone. The psychiatrist sighed, moved to shove the table away when—

"Who're you?"

A pair of darkened eyes staring at him. Held him in direct hitting field of his green slingshot.

* * *

_Lock on!_

* * *

The psychiatrist blinked and looked at this clothes. Couldn't he tell from looking at his white garments? "I'm your psychiatrist. I'm supposed to check on you today."

Usopp ignored him. His yes were on the mask. He reached out, hesitantly, his fingers wavering—

"Who are you?" Usopp asked before he deepened his voice. "Me? don't you know who I am?"

Chopper watched curiously, and with a strange hint of fascination when the patient's eyes grew wilder with each second.

"I'm the brave warrior that conquered many seas, fought giant goldfishes, dragons and lions of huge seizes. I'm—"

* * *

_The man who came from the Sniper Island_

* * *

He grabbed the mask off the table, moved to slip it over his face when he caught Chopper staring at him.

"Dude, you  _cannot_  look whilst I'm transforming. You're ruining it!"

Chopper spluttered apologies and turned around despite his confusion. He checked again but nothing of this sort was documented. The pathological liar didn't develop theatrical tendencies.

He turned back only to find himself staring at Usopp—red cloak on, and that hideous mask covering his face—standing on the metal bar of his bed, posing and mumbling under his breath whilst he tried his best to choreograph some movements— _singing_ —

* * *

_Lululu~_

_L_ _ulu_ _lala_

* * *

"I'm Sniper Warrior Sogeking!"

Chopper didn't realise what the pathological liar was about to do at first—his movements were odd shape of weirdness, and the read cloak was blocking half his vision and—

Chopper saw him jumped, soaring through the air, rolling once, rolling twice, rolling thrice—

Ow, he missed his landing.

The bathroom door opened. A bob of blue hair peeked out.

"Deserves you right, you freak."

Chopper jumped, turned around to face an ashed face—the elder's skin was worn, replaced by metals, draped with sparkling wires and—was that gas torch in his hands?

He laughed at Chopper's reaction and pressed a hand against his steel nose as his hair lengthened, and the psychiatrist would have been more than amazed hadn't he noticed that the other was a modified man—and currently in some strange form of  _surgery_ considering the blue garments he wore and the drill held in one hand, and the dangerous sparks of flames he held in his other.

Chopper checked his clipboard. _Delusions of grandeur._ Nothing else. And yet the other insisted—

"I'm a  _rooooo_ -bo man!"

Just like Usopp did earlier, Franky fell back into the rhythms of unusual movements.

Chopper watched him clasped the back of his hands together as he stretched—completely forgetting he was on stood on the floor with half of his body missing. . .

" _SUUUUUPER!"_

* * *

_Run Away!_

* * *

Chopper would have been out of there before the third count hadn't been for the heap of scrap metal that lay carelessly on the floor. He sent a glare at Franky. He grinned.  _"Mecha!"_

Usopp—no,  _Sogeking_ , was still singing his anthem—

* * *

_Sogege Soge Soge~_

* * *

Until—

His mask fell on the floor.

Usopp blinked. Chopper blinked back.

Franky blinked too.

Long nose stared at them—stared at them long and hard and then  _smiled_.

Usopp picked up the mask from the floor. Step by step, he neared them. Curiosity flashed across Chopper's face when— _thud!_

Usopp fell on the floor.

Chopper blinked, moved to shake his shoulder and ask what was wrong when— _clack!_

The mask was gone.

Chopper glanced around, looked for the swirly blue stripes and hideous yellow—when he saw it.

It hung on the wall.

* * *

_Sogeking!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By far this is the weirdest chapter I wrote, don't you think?
> 
> About Usopp's and Franky's behaviour. . .er. . I got no clue what happened xD. I can't seem to stick on my outlines!   
> Forget what I said about them and the remaining characters, from now on I'll just write whatever comes to my mind (although I'll probably keep the gist of it).
> 
> Next chapter should be six: Curiosity and Murderous Eyes in which somebody dared to enter room No. 111—I wonder who it could be? XD
> 
> Any guesses?


	6. Curiosity and Murderous Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So blinding bright. 
> 
> Bright blindingly beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who guessed a certain pink haired dared to enter room No. 111 
> 
> . . . .were right.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Its rhythm grew steady in her mind, long since used in this shabby institute, darken clad walls and shallow breaths of the frozen wind that blew its dust, wallowed in its miseries, shouted its subdued cries.

Sakura sighed, pushed a lock behind her ear.

Clack. Clack. Clack—

The walls bled on, bled around her, splattered on her feet, hefted on her ankle, tried to drag her down— _down, down, down_ —but she walked on, stepped over it, trampled on its dust, left a shadow of blooming sunshine on its trail.

Blotches of faded ink crawled away. Curtains of the achromatic tiles lifted under the shines of her smiles and the path opened, opened enough blind her under the glowing fluorescent lights, welcoming her, luring her deeper into the painted canvases, floors of misguided pathways

Clack. Clack—

She halted. Glanced down.

_This isn’t where I’m supposed to be. . ._

The walls bled. The floors snickered—disappeared under her feet, tugged on her heels, curled around her ankle and pulled her— _down, down, down_ —and she coughed, clutched her neck, the breeze swept past, tucked the breath away from her.

It bled. It reeked. Pressed against her skin, clammed up throat, pulled away her nose and tripped her feet, but she ran on.

And on she went.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The rhythm hummed away in her brain, locked her deeper in this labyrinthine, intertwined in this maze, in this piece created by her mind.

The walls sunk in. Crumbled like confetti, like tiny snowflakes, like stippled dust—

It rained.

Rained down her.

Bleeding walls—blotches of faded ink—tears of the wind—drenched her clothes and wetted her hair. It trickled down her nose. Splotches of red pigment— _drip, drip, drip_ —the clipboard skidded across the floor. Her palms hurt, knees scraped and her nose—

She touched it.

Not broken.

The walls bled, bled on her, splashed on her feet, sat on her ankle, dragged her down— _down, down, down_ —and downed she got.

Drowned under the swarming darkness—under the waves of ink that tickled her nose, and stole her vision. She clenched it shut, held her breath and pushed against it, willed against it and pushed herself up, following the bright pools of crimson—the lights of red that peeked inside this gulf of darkness, blinding bright, bright blindingly beautiful.

She gasped for air, chocked on water instead, wheezed for breath, only tasted tears instead. Her ankle, too heavy. She pulled, pulled it— _up, up, up_ —and opened her eyes. Wide. As though awakening from a dream. A nightmare.

She scampered to her feet, walked on, step by step, even as shudders rippled across her arms. She picked the clipboard up. Stole glances around. The fluorescent lights were on. The walls, a mess of callous brightness, stretched across the titled floors.

She breathed out, straightened her clothes, walked on.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

A shudder rippled up her arms, lodged past her chest onto her neck.

_Creeeek._

The wind blew its dust, breezed past, like a breath, freezing her with its touches. Her spinal cord, like crystal icicles, irremovable. She turned around, slowly. Bit by bit. Carefully.

_Creeeek._

It blew opened, yet ajar. She glanced at the plate. Room 111

She flipped through her papers. Couldn’t find it.

She swallowed, took in a deep breath.

Opened it.

Slowly.

Bit by it.

The lights flittered away. Dimmed. The shadows rose, enveloped the room, drew closer, drew to her. She stepped back.

It snickered. It bled. Stained across the walls, skidded across the floor, tugged on her heels, curled around her ankle and pulled her— _down, down, down_ —and she wheezed, gasped for air, clutched her neck. The breeze chocked her, suffocated her. Stole the lights from her eyes and tucked the breath away from her.

It darkened.

Like confetti it dripped across her vision—like tiny snowflakes, stippled dust it flittered past, rippled past the shadows of her eyelids—and she tried to catch it, chased after it.

It disappeared.

Tiny fissures morphed into the crimson dots, swarming before her eyes, like twinkling stars, pulling her out, sinking her deeper in—

So blinding bright.

Bright blindingly beautiful.

She followed it. Swam across the surface. Across the waves from her mind.

Until she saw—

A pair of red eyes.

* * *

 

She was an easy target.

Pityingly easy.

So much, it was loathsome.

The predictable rhythm of her shoes—her bouncy steps that reverberated against the halls burst a cloud of prickling anger inside his chest—a ticking annoyance that only waited for the unmistakable count of zero.

She was annoyance.

An eyesore.

His hands twitched.

His eyes opened.

Crimson dots rose behind his lids.

A smirk stretched across his lips.

Clack. Clack. Clack—

The walls bled. Bled on her. Haunted her. Followed her. Clasped her ankle. Tripped her footsteps. Dragged her— _down, down, down_ —and he tugged, pulled, and drowned her into the waves of darkness that unfolded before her eyes.

His hand reached out. Grabbed her neck.

Her eyes opened. Green eyes on bleeding crimson.

He drew back. She followed—followed out of this darkness—away from her mind into the blinding brightness of florescent lights. But even then—she followed.

Bit by bit, nearer.

Step by step, closer.

_Creeeek._

Fluorescent rays stole its way into the room. The shadows flittered away, burned away under its scalding heat.

_Creeeek._

Shadows reached across the room. Shielded him from her peering eyes. And he tugged her, drowned her— _down, down, down_ —but she swam.

And swim she did.

Until she saw—

His pair of red eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. No, it's not Gaara, it's Sasuke. Thought I clear it up before anybody jumps into the wrong conclusion. 
> 
> Alright, What on earth happened you ask? Well, I don't know, except the whole writing process has gotten out of hand. That, and I still don't have a clue how exactly they came to be. Yup, I think that's an acceptable excuse. 
> 
> 2 chapters to go until East Ville ends. If there's a character you want me to write about, do tell me as soon as you can.
> 
> Next chapter: Psychopathy and Wooden Splinters. Gaara and Kankuro.


	7. Psychopathy and Wooden Splinters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like the hole in my chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First it's Gaara then Kankuro's point of view.

Take a deep breath.

In. out.

Just like that.

Step inside.

One. Two.

Just like that.

Stretch out a hand.

Let it greet. Let it grab.

Oh—yes, just like that.

That rhythm— _Tap. Tap._

Stop it. It’s— _Pat. Pat._

Like the breeze. Like the rain.

Like my unmistakable pain.

Like the hole in my chest.

The widening gap—

—that widens and widens—

And leaks.

Of blood.

Thickens on my fingers.

Like running water.

Like spider webs.

Like the cuffs on my wrist.

It bounds. It reeks—

_Tap. Tap._

No. It’s— _Pat. Pat._

Like the pitter patter of rain.

That stands for isolation.

That eternal sadness—

That self-love and selfishness.

_Tap. Tap._

No— _Pat! Pat!_

Like the boiling anger.

Shimmering hot—

—burning and burning—

Like the charcoaled smoke—

—rising and rising—

Drowning my soul.

Burning my eyes.

Crushing my nose.

It was hard.

Hard breathe.

_Tap. Tap._

No. _Pat. Pat._

Like the hateful rain.

The pain inside my chest—

A strange sound. A silent creek. It opened. Wide opened.

A silhouette. A figure. Small and chubby. A raccoon.

_Tap. Tap._

A twitch of my brows.

Sands itched on my fingers.

Curled around his throat.

He dropped.

Like sand.

Just like that.

_Pat. Pat._

Like the echoes of my heart. The hole inside my chest. The whispers of my gut.

_Pat. Pat._

 

* * *

 

The skin fell. Dropped one by one. Passed his fingers on the ground. The skin was hard. The wood was hard. Hard on his fingers that dented on the rusted knife.

The eyes were done. Hollowed out over the blue nose.

The fur, sewed. Like blanket over the empty shell.

The antlers? Fixed on top of his head. Like a gruesome mask that could scare the guards.

His lips twitched into a smile.

He dropped the knife and grabbed the needle.

This would be his masterpiece by far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my mind. This is the last chapter. Reason being? Before I realised Chopper was (intentionally) killed and Sakura has been labelled as missing since her encounter with Sasuke. But since it’s ambiguous, you can freely interpret what happened. 
> 
> Another reason is that the idea of the next chapter has constipated my mind. It seems that I cannot write mind illusions and cat fights as of yet. But I will once I can. 
> 
> I might drop in an epilogue or funeral for Chopper or something but for now East Ville ends here. Especially since there were no request. 
> 
> But I hope you’ve enjoyed these seven chapters as much as I have had writing them. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	8. Fallen War Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle was only a flap away from his eyelids.

  _ **Fallen War Hero.**_

_**A.** _

* * *

 The battle was only a flap away from his eyelids.

Hysteric screams rung inside his head. Echoed inside his mind. The blood spurted right before his eyes.

One.

Two.

His arms moved.

Three.

Four.

The room brittled. A breath away from caving in, toppling over, tiles falling like dripping rain, staining the achromatic walls, washing away its pigments into puddles soaked by the wooden floor, ebbing under his feet and the weights carried by his arms. Fluorescent flickered over his head, chasing shadows across the wall, casting the floors in darkness.

Metals clinking in his hands, stifling his arms, tightening his flesh and firming their forms, building up. To protect. To save.

And yet he heard the screams. Cries of his men and cracking limps. Saw the shame; tear streaked faces, snot tickling down their noses, and down casted eyes. Smelled the fear; brewing in the air, thickening in his mouth along with the bitter taste of ash of defeat.

The bitter taste of victory grabbed among the piles of his men.

His mind lingered at the bodied ground, dismembered through wielded blades, wetted as they landed on the floor, strewn at the front line, scattered with faces of comrades and lifeless masses spluttering on pooling puddles.

One. Two.

His arms moved.

Three. Four.

The metals clinked in his hands, stiffened his arms, tightened his flesh and firmed their forms.

The nation was waiting. The people, hoping.

He needed to save.

Needed to protect.

And yet he remembered the hysterics screams.

Of fear.

Of pain.

It rung inside his mind. Cracks of limps and spurting blood of wetted blades splashing on pooling puddles.

One. Two. His arms moved. Three. four.

The metals clinked. Stiffened his arms. Firmed his flesh.

And yet the nation was waiting.

Even as his hair reached the floor and his beard tickled the stomach.

The people were waiting.

Waiting for their saviour. Waiting for the Armistice.

The metals clinked in his hands.

And yet the screams rung inside his head. Inside his mind.

The battle was always a flap away from his eyelids. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, as always, it’s not exactly what I had in mind when I first started out but it’s pretty decent, considering that imagination doesn’t always directly translates to reality, sadly. . . 
> 
> But, my personal favourites are still Eco-cannibalism than Eco-friendly as well as Curiosity and Murderous Eyes. No, it’s not because Sakura died. I’m not that kind of hater xD 
> 
> Anyway, I’d like to know which ones are yours? And if you don’t have favourites, which one do you like, or like the least? 
> 
> (I bet it’s Shino’s chapter about cardboard insects. . .) 
> 
> Anyway, I’m not the type to get offended by things like this, so let it all out. You are even permitted to swear, if you want to. I’m all hears and I’m probably will be laughing too, so please make my day and drop me a line! :D  
> (It will only take seconds!)


End file.
